


The King's Hunt: The Wild Hunt In Northern England, 1110-1434; 1817-2018

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Future Fic, Interviews, Wild Hunt, Yuletide 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 23:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16881018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: The night she left to follow the King, it wasn't raining or anything like that.





	The King's Hunt: The Wild Hunt In Northern England, 1110-1434; 1817-2018

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raven (singlecrow)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecrow/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! Thanks to Kaesa for the beta.

Mary Jasper

  
The night she left to follow the King, it wasn't raining or anything like that. You'd think it would be. More atmospheric, right? There's all those old names for the nights the Wild Hunt comes through, but me and her, we always called it date night. You'd stay in, you'd listen to the horses and-- and to whatever the King's hounds are-- and you'd cuddle up on the couch. It was a good night in, cheaper than the cinema. She'd listen to the braying of the hounds and say, "Mary, wouldn't it be exciting," and I'd tell her that yes, maybe it would be exciting at first, but wouldn't you want to stop at some point?

But maybe that was the difference between us, in the end. She wouldn't want to stop. And I would.

I saw the King once, I'll tell you _that_. I was walking down the street and turned a corner and there he was with his seneschal, I recognized him from the newspaper. John Childermass wasn't looking anywhere near me, but the King did. And then he looked away and it wasn't anything really to remember, except how often do you see the Raven King? He's always in his other realms. We're a bit too boring for him here, Laura used to say. Maybe I should have known then. Maybe I should have known then that she'd go with him. She never saw him, not until she went with him. But I saw him. And I wasn't tempted. But she took her chance and she went.  


> Why do you think she did it?

  
Because she wanted to.

It wasn't the promise of immortality, I don't think. That wasn't the appeal for her. I never really understood how humans could be immortal like fairies, but you don't hear about immortal milk maids in any of the old tales and you don't hear about immortal software engineers these days. It's only immortal magicians and that's all well and good, but Laura wasn't a magician. She could do a little magic, but who can't? I can do a little magic, too. It's not special these days. We're not in the days of Strange and Norrell anymore. Any child can do a spell. But you have to have a knack to be a magician and neither of us had that. We weren't either of us magicians and we weren't either of us gunning for immortality. At least, I don't think we were.

I certainly wasn't.

One girl at school, Kate, she was born to be a magician, but I was the one who was friends with her. Laura wasn't, she had her own group. Laura and I didn't get together until university. Lesbians have to stick together, she said. But she'd also say, what's life without a little risk. I used to love that about her. She was so outgoing. I guess she still is. I don't know. But she loved life. And I loved how she loved life.

So it wasn't the magic, and it wasn't the immortality, it was the adventure, I think. I still don't get it. I wish we'd talked about it. I wish I'd known. I wish I'd had any warning at all. But instead, that night she looked at me and she said, "can't you hear their hooves pounding, can't you hear the drums, don't you want to find them," and she squeezed my hand and then she was out the door and gone forever.  


> What was it like for you?

  
I don't know. I still-- I still don't know. It was like she'd only gone out for a moment. But the Hunt rushed by. I listened for screams. I didn't hear any. But that doesn't mean anything. But she didn't come back with the dawn and I-- I knew then. I knew she wasn't coming back. I knew she was gone. One way or another. She was gone.

I went to a support group, I figured it would help. And it did, a little. But I'd look around at everyone and think, can't you just move on? Can't you just get over it? Some of the old ladies at the support group, they talk about their lost ones like it was yesterday, even though it was years ago. I don't want that. I want to move on. They're so focused on the Hunt. They're so focused on the King. You'd think it only happens in movies or old books, but, really, there'd be a storm during a meeting and they'd say the King is stomping around when there was thunder, or that the King's lighting his candles when there was lightning. I don't want that kind of superstition in my life. I have enough metaphors in my life without thinking that a bad storm is the King blundering around his house and making a mess out of mine. I can't live my life like that. That's no life to lead, so focused on the Raven King and what you lost to him. I can't do that. I don't want to.

Yeah, my girlfriend left with the Wild Hunt. It really sucks. But Laura and me, we weren't star-crossed lovers or anything like that. I'm sad she's gone, and I'm going to be sad for a while. But I'm not going to be writing ballads about it. The Raven King is a lot more exciting than I am. If that's my worst character trait, I'm probably coming out ahead.

It is hard to hear the Hunt go by now, though, wondering if she's with them, wondering if she's _not_. I think I might move away, so I can stop hearing them call to each other, or calling to _me_.  


* * *

  


Laura Hardwicke

  
I always knew I was going to go with him. Always.

Growing up in Newcastle, everyone can hear the Hunt. And when you hear him go by, don't you want to go look? You want to see what's making the noise, you want to see what's scaring your parents. You want to go where you're not supposed to go. You want to see it all.

I never grew out of that, wanting to go where I wasn't allowed. They tried to make me sensible and all that, but I was always going to go with him. It would feel like my blood was vibrating to the rhythm of the Hunt, from the day I was born to the day I left.  


> Did you know what the Hunt would be like before you joined it?

  
I knew exactly what it would be like.

You know those paintings done by the people who'd gotten just close enough but hadn't fallen in? I'd stare at them for ages. We've got hundreds of years of those paintings to choose from, all different styles, but I had a favorite. I even had it as my phone background. It's a Dundale, the one in the museum right by the entrance. There's the King at the front, his hair turning into tree branches right in front of you, his birds nesting in them, staring right at you. And there's the King's magicians by his side as always, Catherine of Winchester at his left hand, her gown made of moss and meteors, and you can almost touch it and get burned by starfire and smothered by undergrowth. I'd die happily if it meant I got to be killed by her, I knew _that_ early on. My parents tried to talk to me about dangerous women, but by that point, it was already too late for me. I'd seen a glimpse of what was out there and I wanted to see more. It was always too late for them to hold me back.

They're looking at you, in all those paintings. They're always looking at you. Everyone always thought it was scary, but I thought it was an invitation. They want you to come. They want you to join the hunting party. And maybe you'll be joining as the prey, but isn't that exciting, too? 

I was always going to go.

I suppose the real question is, why did I wait so long if I always knew I was going to do it. But I suppose if you always know you'll do something, it loses its urgency, doesn't it? And the Hunt comes by four times a year, on the solstices and equinoxes, the King's celebrations. I knew I had time. And the pull was always there. But on Hunt nights, there was always something else to do. I don't want to say it was something _better_ to do, because what could be better than running with the Hunt? My old girlfriend, she'd laugh at me and say I was eager to be torn apart by the hounds and eaten by the King's ravens. And she was right, of course I was. Who wouldn't die for a moment of pure thrill? I wasn't some kind of adrenaline junkie jumping off of bridges on a bungee cord or walking on a tightrope. With the Hunt outside my window my entire life, why would I need anything other than what was already there for me? I was lucky. I didn't have to go looking for it. It was always right there in front of me.

And then one night, I didn't have something else to do, and the call of the hunting horn went through me like an arrow and I just had to go. I couldn't wait any longer. I just had to go. I had to.

So I went.  


> What was your first Hunt like?

  
A rush of colors and blood. A lot of feathers. And running. I think I was running until I learned to fly. And then I flew until the horn called me back.

I don't really remember a lot of it. I'm still human and the adrenaline takes over.

But it was all instinct. All of it. Once I joined the Hunt, I knew what to do. I knew everything. The Hunt is a single organism made up of a thousand pieces, all dancing to the King's magic. It's pure joy.  


> Do you regret it?

  
No. None of it. I'm not sorry I went. I don't regret it. I had a _grand_ time. The night sang through me and I never felt so alive, teetering on the edge of death. It was worth everything I gave up for it. The Hunt had the dead and the living, humans and fairies, and in the whirlwind, your heart beats with the rhythm and the rush of the King's ravens. You're running and you're flying and you're living and you're dying and you feel like a bolt of electricity and freshly-fallen snow at the same time, on fire and at peace, and it goes on and on, perched on that pinnacle, on the edge of death and birth.

I don't miss home. Some of the humans in the King's realms miss it; I don't really understand those people, to be honest with you. But they weren't caught up with the Hunt. They didn't run with the hounds or grow raven's wings. They came here by accident. They were kidnapped or they fell through or something else like that. They don't understand why I'd prefer this to where I came from. They miss home, those who still remember it, that is. Time passes differently here and some of them, if they could go back, wouldn't have anything to go back to. I feel bad for them, I guess. I should feel bad for them, right?

But I'm not trapped in Faerie. I go out four times a year. And the rest of the time, I wait for the Hunt. I have some other chores here, but they don't matter.

Maybe some other people regret it. But I had the time of my life that night. And when I get called for the Hunt, I'm always thrilled to go. Every time might be the time I don't make it until dawn, but I wouldn't regret a second of it, riding with the King's wild company.

**Author's Note:**

> [Yuletide Reveal Post](https://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/1027055.html)


End file.
